Karen Mercury (22 page)

Tabitha grabbed her champagne glass and gulped before answering. “The one we’re going to organize. We could have it out at Mr. Boswell’s ranch.”

“That’s a good locale,” said the railroad guy. Tabitha seemed to recall he was a widower. She should introduce him to Orianna. Anything to take that witch’s attention off her man.

She spied Remington Rudy himself leading her sister Alameda from the dance floor, so Tabitha started in that direction. Only to have her arm stayed by a firm male hand.

Foster’s forest green eyes glittered—apologetically, Tabitha imagined. He did have sort of a hangdog look about him. “I’d like to dance with you.”

A statement like that! Not even a question, an invitation. “I’d like to dance with you,” Tabitha agreed, and she was whisked onto the parquetry floor. She noted right away that he held her closer than he’d held Orianna. So close, in fact, his necktie brushed against her chin. He no longer smelled like cowhide, Tabitha realized with chagrin. How she wanted to bury her face in his neck, to discern his new scent! She knew she could instantly tell if he’d canoodled with Orianna by the scent.

He did not take his eyes from her face, as he had often when waltzing with Orianna. “I love you, Tabitha Hudson. I have not ceased to think about you for one moment since meeting you.”

Except when Orianna is sucking up all your thoughts
. “We’re not courting, Foster. Don’t look at me.” Tabitha tried to gaze distantly over his shoulder but could not keep her eyes off him either.

His eyes flashed with anger. “Who says we’re not courting? Tabitha, Orianna is just the mother of my son. This doesn’t mean I’m returning to courting
her
. I want
you
.”

Tabitha steeled her jaw and looked at the quartet. She tried to smile at her brother-in-law Derrick Spiro, who was wheeling Alameda around the small ballroom. “
I
say we’re not courting. Not until you get things straight with Orianna. I will not court a man who is being manipulated by a former flame! An evil one, at that. Look away, Foster.”

He didn’t look away. “I agree she’s got an evil streak, Tabitha. All the more reason I should do everything I can to get my son back.”

“I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing, Foster.” Tabitha grinned woodenly at William Freund, the big gun of the local emporium chain. There were many ridiculous and trivial Freund brothers—one of them could take Orianna off their hands. “Your obligation is to Abe, and therefore to Orianna as well. In fact, we shouldn’t even be dancing. Orianna seems to be capable of thoroughly frightening things. Your faithful dog can attest to that. When did she find out you have a gold claim in the Black Hills?”

Foster’s eyes flickered with confusion, perhaps because he couldn’t recall telling Tabitha about the gold, either. “I probably mentioned it in a letter when I sent her gold and money.”

“You see, then? She’s obviously interested in alchemy. Maybe she thinks you’ve struck pay dirt—I don’t know, and don’t want to know—and by using your son’s alleged ill health to manipulate you… Well, I don’t need to say more.”

The waltz was winding down, and dancers eager for a lively reel crowded the floor.

“All right! A fiddle!” yee-hawed one roostered tycoon by the punch bowl. It was not uncommon in the Far West for even the upper crust to be roostered past six o’clock, and many others joined in his approval of the fiddler.

“It’s a shame you’re not fiddling,” said Tabitha to change the subject.

But Foster had her firmly by the arm, steering her toward doors she knew went to a glass greenhouse. She allowed herself to be steered, mostly because her main wish in life, the thing that overrode all other desires, was the wish to be alone with Foster, under any circumstances. Her moral code told her this was absolutely wrong, would give guests the wrong idea and, most of all, give Orianna the wrong idea. She did not need Orianna to have another reason to hate her. There were already plenty of reasons.

She allowed Foster to steer her behind an enormous palm. He pressed her into the foliage of some tropical undergrowth until she felt her bustle stopped by the palm trunk. He then crushed his powerful body against hers.

“Tabitha, you don’t know how much turmoil I’ve been in since that woman materialized. This was the last thing I wished for in the world! I don’t want
anything
to come between you and me.”

“Yes, but she has,” Tabitha pointed out. It was a massive internal struggle to remain composed—to refrain from flinging her arms about Foster.

“I know I cannot avoid this reality, what has happened the past couple of days. I cannot ignore that I need to step up and be present for my son. I also cannot ignore that I am helplessly in love with you, Tabitha, and without you, I wilt and die.”

Tabitha actually liked that. Not that she wanted Foster to die, no, of course not. But the idea that without her he wasn’t his randy, dignified, fireball self, well, that sat well with her. She was needed. She ran her fingers through his silken spiky hair and said tenderly, “I must admit I am in love with you, too, Foster Richmond. But right now you need to find out what Orianna’s plan is. If she cannot bring herself to return to Laramie, you will need to go to San Francisco.”

She had never seen Foster so coiled, like a snake. She should feel sympathy for his many conflicting emotions. When he impulsively kissed her, Tabitha threw her entire body into it. She clung to his neck, nearly lifting her slippers off the tiles. There were many layers to her cream tarlatan gown, but she managed to hitch the toes of one slipper into the top of his boot, signaling her vulnerability, her willingness to be taken.

He kissed her voraciously, lapping at the underside of her tongue. A whiff of something decidedly not cowhide emanated from his neck, and Tabitha tensed—it was a musky yet feminine scent, something a witch would wear. She told herself that the hellcat had probably hugged him up, thanked him for something, become demonstrative in her excitement. That was how a feminine scent had gotten on Foster. Maybe Orianna had done up his necktie for him, that was it.

She did not wish to think about this as Foster fumbled at her skirts. He seemed to be gathering a great handful of the various layers eagerly, without thought to how he might be mussing them. There was the gauze pleated overskirt, and then he had to contend with garlands of roses. His hand got stuck in a medallion of black lace ruche, and Tabitha assisted by yanking it away.

“My pet,” he panted against her mouth. “I will not throw your name to the wind. I will not give you up, and I will never forget you.”

“You must not leave Laramie!” Tabitha spoke what was in the center of her heart. “No matter what, you must not leave me.”

“I won’t,” Foster agreed, and his nimble fingers swept against her clitoris, beneath all the sweaty layers of fabric. He quickly set up a talented twiddling motion that had her gasping, and climbing the palm trunk to give him better access.

With one foot wedged in his boot and her hands clutching the palm, Tabitha could even lunge her hips to add friction to his twiddling. Against his mouth she said, “You must do what’s right for Abe. You must bring him here at all costs!”

“I will, my pet,” Foster promised in a strangled tone. How talented he was, how agile with his fingers! As he had done with his mouth, his fingers zeroed in on the target, the exact sensitive spot that never failed to bring Tabitha off.

She knew that soon she would fall into that mindless realm where logical thoughts were banished, so she spoke while she still could. “Use Caleb’s power. He is more powerful than Orianna and her stupid little alchemy experiments.” Of course, there was that smoke monster that had attacked Caleb. But Tabitha didn’t want to think about that now.

“Yes, Caleb,” murmured Foster, grinding his erection into the roses at her hip. He didn’t miss a beat with his agile fingers. “Caleb doesn’t like her. He’ll help.”

On a sudden, Tabitha gasped until her lungs were full. She hovered for a brief moment on the edge of that orgasmic cliff—the cliff of no return. Her eyelids fluttered, and the entire channel of her pussy trembled and shivered before clamping down in one immense contraction.

The strength of her inner muscles was so powerful, she knew if there’d been a penis inside of her, she would’ve strangled it silly. Spasm after spasm clutched at her pussy as Foster coaxed the most cataclysmic orgasm of her life from her.

“That’s good, my pet,” he cooed. “Keep coming. Come all over my hand. Let your juice drip down my arm.”

One part of her addled brain wondered how he’d known she was coming. Another part wondered how he’d explain the pussy stains on his cuff. And the contractions kept coming, clenching at her uterus, washing her pelvis in a flood of exquisite pleasure. She realized she was whimpering, and she heard her tiny voice begging him to stop.

“Oh, Jove,” she squeaked. “Hell’s bells. Stop. Enough. Too much.”

Foster slowed down, and when she finally opened her squinched eyes she saw he nuzzled her nose with the tip of his, and he was murmuring, “I love you, my pet… Don’t ever leave me.”

She was so overly stimulated, she didn’t much notice when the sleek round knob of his cockhead wiggled urgently against her pussy. Lifting one slipper from the floor to give him better access, she balanced herself by gripping the palm trunk. She was so wet, so wide open, she knew her cunt would willingly accept his length and breadth.

He slid inside her, his thighs trembling and his eyelids fluttering. His gasps and chokes let Tabitha know he, too, had been so riled by her orgasm he was on the verge of his own. Forcing his eyes open, he looked directly at her. “Tabitha. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she gasped. Now wasn’t the proper time to mention the enormity of what stood between their love.

He moved beautifully, with assurance, the wetness of her pussy guaranteeing a smooth fuck. Tabitha didn’t want to ruin his neatly knotted necktie, but she was not above getting lipstick on his neck, and she liked his taste.

“Fuck me good,” she said, naughtily. “Fuck me good with that long, plump cock of yours.”

That must’ve done it. Foster’s breath caught in his throat, his nostrils flared, and his hips shuddered. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she could feel the semen splash her cervix, and my, he seemed to have a load of it. He held her nearly off the floor with the power of his shuddering hips, and he did not breathe for a long time.

Someone was opening the door to the glasshouse, and cultured, chatty voices floated over. It must’ve been Mrs. Fowler, eager to show someone her meat-eating plant. “Not a single fly has ever entered my house!” she said proudly.

Tabitha swiftly disengaged herself, smoothing down her skirts. She had to smile when a veritable flood of jism ran down her leg. She whispered, “Your obligation is to Orianna and your son. They must come first until you can get Orianna to agree to bring him to Laramie.”

“I will have to build them a house,” he said hurriedly.

“Yes. And marry Orianna off to one of these lunkheads. Oh, my,” she said in a high, clear voice. “This palm reminds me of the many that I saw in Florida. You’ve been to Florida, haven’t you, Mr. Richmond?”

“Indeed,” Foster practically shouted, woodenly.

Tabitha was pretty certain neither one of them had ever been to Florida, but they strolled back to the ballroom without eliciting any more than a quizzical glance from Mrs. Fowler and her friends. The Fowlers lived only a few doors down from Vancouver House so were probably fairly accustomed to the wild ways of Simon Hudson’s daughters.

“You must do the reel with Orianna,” Tabitha said from the corner of her mouth.

“I only want to reel with you.”

“Why don’t you play the fiddle? You’re much better than that fellow. Let go of my hand. Oh, good evening, Henry!”

Tabitha went to greet Henry Zuckerkorn, her employer, who was talking the hind leg off one of Mrs. Fowler’s adolescent granddaughters. Orianna had been reeling with a politician Tabitha knew was connected with Senator Spiro, and Tabitha would line up many more dance partners for the evil witch of San Francisco.

“What is this contraption?”

Foster looked up from where he perched on the edge of the bed. They had been allowed to use Harley’s bedroom at Vancouver House while Harley shared the main bedroom with Ivy. Foster had removed his fancy leather shoes, his necktie and collar. He was unbuttoning the shirt when he glanced up to see Worth displaying a leather article with several buckles. It looked like something that might belong to a horse. “What’s a horse bridle doing in a bedroom?”

“I’d venture to guess,” Worth said, grinning, “that this attachment doesn’t belong in a horse’s mouth.”

Foster flung his shirt to the floor and gestured for Worth to bring the contraption closer. “You never know with Harley. He’s been around the world a few times. Besides being booted from the British Army for buggery, some menacing Somali’s lance gave him that nasty scar on his jaw.” The harness contraption was attached to a fairly large leather dildo, menacing in its own right. That men would have no need of an artifact such as this caused Foster to grin lewdly at Worth.

“That must belong to her sister Ivy,” said Foster.

“Yes,” Worth agreed wistfully, placing the dildo back onto a shelf of the armoire. “And thanks to you and your mess of a private life, we’ll have no call to use it with Tabitha.”